


Victor

by writingstudent



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23397505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingstudent/pseuds/writingstudent
Summary: Ivar loses a battle, but once he gets home, you remind him that he is a winner.
Relationships: Ivar (Vikings)/Original Character(s), Ivar (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s), Ivar (Vikings)/Reader, Ivar (Vikings)/You
Kudos: 43





	Victor

**Author's Note:**

> You can buy me a coffee and support my work at: https://ko-fi.com/writingstudent  
> Accepting commissions - message me on tumblr for more information: https://writingstudent.tumblr.com/

There was just something about the way he was looking at you that night. He would always linger his gaze on your curves, looking at the way your hair brushed over your shoulder, teasing your collarbones and framed your breasts in the most beautiful braids and twists he had ever seen. But tonight there was something feral in his gaze, not just wanting, _needing_. He needed you and he needed you now.

Today had been a bad day – Ivar’s first defeat in battle. It had been a gruesome battle, with casualties running high on both sides. It had ended up with a mutual retreat – the Franks dwindling in battle and Ivar’s ambushing battalion losing more Vikings than it could sustain. To not retreat would mean certain death the next day, and Ivar would not send his soldiers to glooming death for no reason. There is no Valhalla in pretty battles and useless deaths. He had bit his inner cheek, spitting the blood he drew before sounding the order.

Now here he was, after hours of reviewing maps and running through strategies, and he was desperate. There appeared to not be many good options – they would have to take them by surprise in a few days. Play the cowards and then taken them out in their sleep.

He was starving for a win, for glory. That is when he saw you again – Y/N, his beauty and peace.

You were walking towards him with a soft smile, trying to mask your worried expression. You trusted his abilities and knew that the war would turn out with a victory for your people, but you knew not how he would react to today’s battle. His first loss at anything other than life. Life had handed him the short stick at his birth, and he had already too many losses to be able to carry more. That’s what pushed him to be the man he was today – the ruthless ruler who could not afford to bear anything less than glory and victory. His glory was but a double-edged sword, a blessing and a curse at the same time. He was always tormented, plagued by the idea of not being equal to his peers. He had to put in double, no triple the effort to prove, to both those around him but most importantly himself, that he was a man. You tried to alleviate this burden of his, showing him how much you adored him and needed him. You wished some days that he could see himself through your eyes.

“Hello my prince” You let your fingers run through his scruff, cupping his face and let yourself dive into his blue eyes. He grunted, rolling his eyes slightly at your endearing nickname. You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle – it was still wild to you that one of the most vicious Vikings allowed you to call him cute nicknames and fawn over him when he would rather throw an axe at anyone else who tried to do so.

“Hello.” His curt response made your eyebrows scrunch up in worry.

He took his crutches and made his way back to his tent. You wondered if he was going to review his maps yet again – it was best to leave him be in moments like these. You were a wonderful strategist, another reason he had fallen madly in love with you. He could respect you, not only as a person but as a mind to reckon with his own. He would come to you for advice when he was ready to. You were about to turn back around and return to your own mappings in order to prepare your version of the next possible attack when you saw him look over his shoulder. His gaze left you breathless. You would not be looking at any mappings tonight, or for quite some time tomorrow morning. You quickly followed his steps into the tent.

By the time that you made it in Ivar was already removing the braces off his legs, struggling angrily with frustrated grunts. Your mind couldn’t help but wander. You learned to love each of his grunts – he was not a man of many words, although your favorite will always be the ones that fall out of his lips when he first enters you, dropping his head on your shoulder as you both shudder each time. He was still a prince, yet to be crowned by his bloodied ancestors but in your eyes he was already your _king_. He owned you, heart and soul.

You let him struggle by himself, to intervene would only mean to hurt his ego more. You could almost sense it – the battered and bruised forms over his heart took more out of him than his actual injuries.

“Were you hurt today?” His tone was always curt, but the storm in his eyes seemed to pause for a second, hesitating. It made your heart swell.

“No, I’m alright.” There was a gash on your left side but it was definitely not the worst beating you had taken – you didn’t need to give him anything more to worry about. Plus, you liked where this was going.

“Did you already have your wounds looked at?” This time it was your time to check in – but you already knew that he must have, there was no point in keeping an army if it had no leader. You both knew better than to risk your lives for senseless things.

“I’m crippled darling, not daft.” He rolled his eyes at you for the second time that night, but something about the way he cracked his neck there made you choke on the giggle threatening to come out of your throat. You lowered your eyes to the floor, thinking of how to approach him. A few moments passed in silence.

“Come here.” He beckoned you over with his hand, his fingers curling in a come-hither motion that made you weak at the knees. You shuffled forward, starting to unbuckle your armor and dropping parts of it to the floor as you went. When you reached him you remained simply in your battle skirt and thin top. He looked you over appreciatively, tongue coming out to swipe quickly over his lips. Before he could say anything, you had already settled in his lap, straddling him to kiss him senseless. You let your hands run through the short hair at the back of his head, pulling lightly on it to elicit a small growl from Ivar, who in turn bit your lower lip, dragging it towards him.

You could feel the anger in his muscles, all tense underneath you in a way that made you feel so small in his arms, melting against him. He felt up your legs, parting them roughly to snake a hand up your skirt. He toyed with the band of your underwear, snapping them against your skin as he grinned into your messy kiss, teeth clashing for a second. You ground your hips against him, feeling him straining through his pants as you rushed to start undoing the buckle, pulling back from his bruising lips. He only lunged forward again, redirecting his attention towards your neck, already littered with markings from the previous nights, which he seemed intent on renewing. You were his, his ultimate victory and he made sure that everyone knew it. Whether that meant you sat on his lap during a meeting, speaking over the higher-ranked officers when you had a strategy or marking your neck with the prettiest of bruises, he would have it all.

You shrugged off your shirt, nipples pebbling at the cold waft of air coming in from the cracked window.

“Fuck Y/N -” He breathed out, his eyes blown in want. You shivered as his eyes dragged over you, leaving you exposed, taking in your pulse thrumming in your neck and the breath hitched in your throat. His hands took new interest in your thighs, moving with earnest resolution to take off your underwear. The loud ripping sound of fabric filled the cottage – he couldn’t wait anymore. It was like his fingers were made for you. The contrast between his rough and scarred skin from years of battle and training and your soft silken lips set a torturous pace and you had to struggle to keep your breath. Never in Valhalla would you have imagined Ivar as a tender teasing lover, but here he was, the cripple, staring at your face from the corner of his eye with a somewhat awestruck expression, watching the way your chested heaved with uneven breaths as he played lazily with your clit. Norns. To say that you were falling for the man was an understatement. You needed him, and needed him quickly.

“Do you need anything, _pet_?”

You outright moaned at the nickname he chose for you. _Pet_. If it had come from the lips of any other man you would have made him swallow his fist whole. It meant ownership, being somewhat lesser than him, but an object of praise and adoration. But from Ivar… was it wrong that the hairs on your back raised at the thought? That he wanted you, not just for the night but to be his. For he was already yours in every sense of the word – or so you would make sure tonight.

“Nothing.”

You struggled to get the words out while keeping a poor excuse of a straight face. You were red and starry-eyed, heaving with determined want and desperation. You were a wanton image, a goddess under the dim lighting. Ivar’s pants tightened at the view and he had to bite back the growl growing in his throat. It had been decided there – he would chase you to the edge of the Earth and do your bidding, but he would never settle to rule without you by his side.

He manhandled you into a new position, making you swivel around in his lap. You felt his toned chest press up against your back, making you melt into him as his hot breath fanned on your neck.

“ _I’ll_ tell you what I need then.”

His teeth dragged lightly over your neck, biting into it slightly at the junction of your neck and shoulder, feeling your pulse rise quickly as he sucked into it.

“What I need is for you to lift your skirts up and let me crawl between those pretty legs of yours. To kiss up your thighs-”

His fingers brushed on your clit, exerting a soft pressure without moving, teasing you as you buck your hips into his hands.

“To bite into them, marking you as mine.”

Ivar lets out a ragged breath in between his whispers, his own chest heaving in synch with yours as he watched your breasts moving up and down rhythmically, glistening with a sheer thin sweat.

“I want to breathe you in and lick you, running my tongue along your edges before taking your clit into my mouth and sucking on it. ”

You whimpered helplessly, boneless in his arms. Your thighs quivered with his ministrations, tensing as you felt yourself get closer –

“Fuck, Ivar!” You gripped his forearm tightly, digging your fingers into his skin as you came, breathing harshly and feeling all of a sudden faint. He helped you ride out the high, fingers slowly stilling in you but never coming to a proper halt. You could feel his growing smirk between the puffs of air hitting your neck.

You smiled lazily in return at his newfound confidence. You knew – Ivar may have lost a battle, but he would always turn out victor.


End file.
